|
AzNF00J00
|
read my profile
sign my guestbook
Name: Brian
Location: Massachusetts, United States
Birthday: 1/4/1988
Gender: Male
Interests: I like Running,
I like Benching,
I like Working Hard,
I like Winning.
Expertise: I'm the definition of danger.
Fear me, or don't.
Either way, I still will win.
There is no such thing as losing.
Occupation: Student
Message: message meEmail: email me
Member Since:
2/28/2003
|
|
| Wow, seven months since I've updated this thing. That's friggin' amazing!
Since I can't remember every single detail about my life, I might as well start from the most stand-out sequences of events.
In the month of May, there wasn't really much going on. Except for my XYZ coming down for a visit. She spent a good week with me. Had lots of fun.
The month of June wasn't really exciting either. I just remember that it was butt-fucking hot. Spent a lot of days working. But mid-June was quite interesting. I think it was the 16th of June when I was enrolled into WLC, against my will. WLC is also known as "Warrior Leader's Course". It's a course for all young junior enlisted and junior NCOs to attend in order to build better leaders for the Army. I thought it was going to suck. But in actuallity, it was a very good experience for me.
But I flipped my car two days into the course. That sucked! I was driving back to Fort Benning when I encountered a deer. I swerved off the road and the car did some amazing ballet when it decided to jump and rotate in the air approximately 4-6 times. Yes, it was an amazing display of grace and beauty, till gravity took over and smashed me all over the woodline. The car ended up standing up on the driver side, suffering intense and major damage. Boy, I was pissed off. I got my cellphone, my wallet, and keys. I tried climbing out of the passenger door, but it was smashed shut. So I had to climb out of the rear passenger door. I jumped out and was on the verge of tears. I had just flipped my car and didn't know what to fucking do. Temptation settled in to try and put the car right side up and see the damage and drivability of it. But shock and fear of the unknown drove to anxiety. Calling my senior NCO, screaming out, "FUCK, I FLIPPED MY CAR!" I couldn't help but worry about how I was going to get back to WLC. Two days into the course, and such a major accident had occurred. There was no way I was going to get dropped from the school. It took the police, fire truck, and ambulance approximately 25 minutes to get the scene of the accident, mainly because it was off in the middle of nowhere. All the while the company First Sergeant was trying to console me of the huge loss that had beset me.
The EMTs were checking my body for any sort of harm. The only sort of harm that came out of the accident were sore ribs because of the seat belt. It could have been a lot worse if it weren't for the seat belt. Also God, can't forget about Him. In any case, as a precautionary measure, the EMTs had to put me in a neck brace, and cart me off to the local hospital. Wow, did that truck ride suck. That was possibly bumpiest and most nauseating ride I've ever been on. And when I got to the hospital, it took the nurses forever to see me. I was lying in such an uncomfortable position, it only pissed me off. When the nurses finally did see me, I got an IV and a blanket. Boy that was a good 20 minutes of sleep. When I had awoken from brief slumber, I realized that game 6 of the Celtics vs. Lakers had occurred and I had to find out what the score was. When I did see, that made my evening a little better to know that the Celtics trounced the Lakers. A few x-rays and signatures later, I was out of the hospital. And I was out of a ride back to post. I had to call the staff duty of WLC to come get me from the hospital. Not to mention that it was pretty cold outside. Well, cold for the south, it was about 70 degrees. Upon reaching back to the NCO Academy, it was about 4 am. I went to sleep for a good hour and was up at it again for PT. Like nothing happened.
Of course, the First Sergeant of the NCO Academy didn't think so. He asked me what the hell I was doing and how the hell I flipped my car. Then he told me to take that morning to fix everything including my insurance. I was quite lucky that I didn't get kicked out. Such a traumatic experience.
After that incident, I ended up with, drum roll please! POISON IVY! My one and only kryptonite. I fucking hate it. I didn't know at the time it was poison ivy, till it started to weep. Then it got infected. I refused to go to sick call during the week because it would endanger my chances of staying in the school. I had come so far (about a week in a four week course) that I wasn't willing to risk getting quarters for something so insignificant. So I waited till the weekend to go and find out what was wrong with me. The issued me some calimine lotion. It didn't get better though. A few days later during the duty week, I had to go to sick call again. This time, penicilian was prescribed. By the end of the course, the poison ivy was no longer a factor.
The duration of WLC, a lot of good things was learned. Also a lot of accomplishments. I was on the Post Commanding General's Flag Detail. There was one I fucked up, since I was the commander of the flag detail, and I got yelled at by someone else on the detail. I pulled him aside and asked him what the fuck was up with him and why he had to do that. He retracted and apologized. And this was a specialist talking to a sergeant. I was already feeling like a Sergeant.
I was also the Student First Sergeant. The high five became rampant throughout the school, as it was started by the one and only chinaman! It was great. Being First Sergeant sucks though. There's a great deal of responsibility. Getting word from the senior NCO instructors, and then disseminating it to the mass. When my week was up, I handed the reins of control over to a PFC. Everyone in the company hated her. Said a lot of bad things about her like she was too pompous. Power had gotten to her head. Rude, bitchy, and just a bad leader. But she's still young in her military career.
Then there was a Leadership Board. Basically, it's a formal board to decide who would be the distinguished Leadership Awardee. I was the last one to go, and I had killed the board. Blew it out of the water. As a reward for being the Leadership Awardee, I would be Student First Sergeant for the last week of school. It was great. The day that the changeover of Student First Sergeant took place was one of the most awkward and messed up things I've ever been apart of in my life. When the PFC handed me back the position, everyone in the company went into a uproar of applause and cheers. My name was chanted over and over again. Two days later, a bunch of the Infantry guys made a running cadence about me. My popularity in WLC was accidental, yet phenomenal. At first I was known as the Chinese guy who flipped his car two days into the class. Then I was known as the Chinese guy who fucked up the flag folding. Then as Student First Sergeant who started the high five. Then as the savior of the class taking back the job from the bitchy PFC. It was quite an interesting ride.
There are a bunch of people who I won't forget though. SGT Belasco, Italian guy who taught me to have no fear and infinite confidence. SGT Benz, a Ranger who can run for fucking ever. SGT Braxton, guy from California and linguist who knew Hebrew. SPC Khajekian, otherwise known as KJ. Armanian guy. Guy was awesome. Played lots of basketball. SGT Taylor, black recruiter. SPC Almanza, guy who had only 4 months left in the service and was still forced to go to WLC. Awesome times. Had a really good time at WLC.
After WLC, I felt like a new person with new experiences. I couldn't wait to get back to my unit and be a true NCO.
- F00j00
PS. - You're not a true NCO until you've pissed off at least three people a day.
| | |
| Huh?! Where am I?! Who am I?!
I've often pondered these questions over the past couple of weeks. Lately, I've been reading up on my own posts just to figure out how I've come to this point in my life. I've made some very conclusive observations about myself in the past. I was so very emo, for one. I searched for companionship the whole time I was in high school, but realized that it will come by itself. Another was that I was a finder of fun. It was great, I shirked my duties and literally had no responsibility whatsoever. Well, responsibilities that had little to no consequences at all. The only responsibilities that I had were those of ROTC. Times sure has changed.
Well, what has been inspiring and worth to note that has happened over the past few weeks?
School has taken a good grasp of me. From Monday to Thursday, at 5PM, I am attending community college right on post. Some would say that it is demeaning to attend a community college. But an education is education, it's worth in weight shouldn't differ based on the type of college one attends... Now I'm kidding myself, but everyone has to start somewhere. Especially since I'm not paying for it, I could care less. What I hope to accomplish through this is that I get an associates out of it. The major is very depressing, however. There is very little option as to what I can major in at this community college. I can major in nursing, child care, art..! All of which has no interest to me whatsoever. The only one major that I had even the slightest interest in was Business. The irony of the situation. I laughed at those who was studying business because I felt that business was boring and stupid. Now, here I am studying that which I loathed. At least I'm faring somewhat well in the courses that I am taking. As of right now, I am taking two classes, microeconomics and speech, and averaging a B in both my classes. Some of the people, however, I cannot help but loathe their intelligence/stupidity.
There is this one female in my speech class that perhaps made me the angriest of all. In class, we were doing a demographics of the class. One issue of race came into play, where the teacher asked us to state our race and specify only one race for the sake of the survey. By the end of it, only 7 people raised their hands while there was 9 people in the class. When asked why they didn't raise their hand, the first female (which is the female I hold vain and anger to) said that she didn't fall into any of these categories. Instead, she stated that she was, "Black, Irish, French, Dutch, and a little bit of Puerto Rican". Now here is the source of my rage. To start with, this bitch is fucking BLACK! She's not totally black, sort of a light-skin black. Kind of like... Halle Berry-black. But nonetheless, considered black. Secondly, four of the five descriptors aren't fucking categories of race. Those are types of people from countries. And the last one shouldn't even count because Puerto Rico isn't a fucking country, it's a damn territory of the UNITED STATES! And to top it off, she said it with such conviction that she was right and that she was offended by the paper that it didn't list Irish, French, Dutch, and Puerto Rican as a proper descriptor of race. My pissed-off scale went from 0 to 10 in a new record of 3 seconds in the category of "Stupid things said." Unfortunately, I had to hold back my anger and spare this poor female my wrath on how retarded she is. The second female should have made me just as angry, since she is blatantly black as well. Darker than the first one. However, she didn't state what country her ancestors were from, so that made it a little better. The instructor of the class told them again, to choose one race that least offends them for the sake of the demographics survey. The pompous bitch then retorted with excess vanity, "I guess, I'll just say African-American." Like she's doing us a favor. My anger increased another three points.
In other news, I was supposed to go to the Battalion Soldier of the Month Board. Well, I did end up going to the board, but that's not really the point. For those who do not know what a battalion is, think of ROTC. An element is equaled to a squad, a flight is equaled to a company, and a squadron is equaled to battalion. For those who don't know, then... Damn, it's hard to think of a civilian analogy. Well, think of McDonalds. There are many McDonalds, but break it up into a region. Now if that one region has a competition for the best burger flipper within that one specific region, that would be equal to Battalion Soldier of the Month Board. At first, I was supposed to go sometime during the middle of March, and then it got postponed. It was then scheduled again for late March, and again it got postponed until further notice. Each time it got postponed, I breathed a heavy sigh of relief, because each time, my uniform was messed up in some way, whether it was the rank on my jacket or I was missing some sort of ribbon. Finally, with about two days prior notice, it was finally set for April 4th. I didn't bother studying at all. My feeling going into the board was that I was going to observe my competition and evaluate my odds of winning on the day of the competition. I didn't really know what the purpose of it was. If I felt that I was going to win, then I do nothing. If I felt that I was going to lose, then I studied right on the spot. The latter really wouldn't have done much for me since I had all the time in the world to study for this board, but that is beside the point. The morning of the competition, I felt bad for not studying at all, but had to conceal this from my sergeant. I was dreading this because I had a bad feeling of losing, and I hate losing. When we got there, the competition seemed full. There was this guy who going to the board for purpose of promotion and competition and two others who seemed high-speed (an Army term for super duper awesome at everything). The first guy for both purposes was a black guy with six years under his belt, while the other two were a black female and a white guy. I felt the weight of it all. I was going to make my company look bad in front of the Sergeant Major (E-9, and the guy in-charge of the whole battalion). Not to mention my squad and my sergeant. Yet, I found a calm in myself. I found a peace within the chaos. It not longer bothered me if I lost, because I would study for the next board and win that one. But I still wanted to win this one.
During my wait for my turn, I was thinking of what song I should sing to the Sergeant Major. During these boards, the Sergeant Major likes it when soldiers sing for him. It's to see how well they can hold their military bearing. I talked it over with my sergeant, and we both agreed on The Temptations - Build Me Up a Buttercup. This song was perfect. Since my sergeant had to be in the room with me at the time of Q&A, I thought it would be a great time to take advantage of the situation and have my sergeant be my back-up singer. Also, my point to picking the song was very simple. It was purely based on the idea that no one dates The Temptations. I have yet to meet someone who hates their timeless and classic music that shall reverberate throughout all time. Not to mention the Sergeant Major was black. You can't hate on The Temptations, especially the song "Build Me Up a Buttercup". My time came, and I nearly smashed the door down as I knocked. Apparently, people like it when you knock loudly. So I did a Donkey Kong SMASH! As I entered the room, I marched directly to the Sergeant Major, presented my arm and said with confidence, "Specialist Wong, reporting to the President of the Board!" After a series of facing and marching commands, I took my seat and the Sergeant Major asked me to give him a bio of myself. Once that was done and over with, he asked me a series of strange questions.
Sergeant Major: What kind of Asian are you, Wong?
Specialist: Chinese, Sergeant Major.
Sergeant Major: Chinese, all right. Now I understand that there are differences between Asian countries, give me a brief run-down of them. You know what, tell me what sets them apart.
Specialist: (Some bullshit about Japanese, Koreans, and Chinese people)
Sergeant Major: Okay, okay. Who do you think is better?
Specialist: Chinese people, Sergeant Major.
Sergeant Major: WHY?!
Specialist: (I was really tempted to say, "Because we're the shit". Instead I gave some bullshit about everything originated from China), Sergeant Major!
After, I was quizzed by the Sergeant Major's subordinates, the four First Sergeants (E-8) of the battalion. I blasted through the first two First Sergeant's questions like a boxer giving a haymaker to the face. The next one though, I stumbled through, because he had all of the questions that I wasn't familiar with. Go figure that the third First Sergeant was the one in-charge of my company. The fourth wasn't so bad.
Then, the Sergeant Major made me stand up and sing some ridiculous Army Songs and then requested/demanded of me to sing my own personal song. It was awesome. Sergeant Moore (my sergeant) sang back-up as we serenaded the ears of the board members. At first, I sang it too loudly, as Sergeant Major stopped me and then said, "Whoa whoa whoa, Wong. The Temptations are soft. They sing softly, smoothly, and with soul. You can't be singing them like that. If you were making love to you girl, you can't woo her shouting like that. You gotta sing. Softly." After that, I tried to hold back my smile as I replied, "I will sing with all of my soul."
Once I had left, there were two more people to go, but they were NCOs and do not count in the competition against the E-4s and below. Finally, we were called back into the office to hear the results of the competition. The Sergeant Major asked each of us who had won the board, and everyone said that I did. Sure enough, I was the winner of the competition. I even got a congratulations from my Commander (O-3, Captain) once he heard the news that I had come back victorious against the enemies.
w00t!
- F00J00
PS. - Cha Siu BAO!
| | |
| You know what I'm thinking right now?
I'm thinking I won't continue on with my account of basic training. At least for this post. Maybe the next post.
What I found out is that TV is the fucking devil. I swear.
Since I've been here on Fort Rucker, I've gone a long time without TV. Although I did get a TV for the purpose of watching movies and playing Xbox360. But it is because of my renewed fervor of an old love. She had been so kind to me during my early years of growth. It was such a harmonious bond between us. Everyday, I would see her. Everyday, I would yearn for her. There were even days when I dreamed about her. The steady pulse of her heart as the ball bounced on her painted surface. The harmony of all my muscles contracting and expanding into a beautiful stroke and a quiet flick. The sound of her silky smooth nylon reverberating as rubber came to greet.
I got cable TV so I can watch the likes of the Boston Celtics kick the fucking shit out of the Phoenix Suns. Seriously. But it's turned into something much more. It's now a pass time. I've gone nearly two years without TV, and now suddenly I'm sucked back into the vortex which consumed my life for the majority of my life. It's the very reason why I wear bent pieces of plastic on the brim of my nose just to see the world as how everyone else sees it.
The good thing about TV is that I'm no longer bored. I have something to watch, whether it be what myths get busted today, or what Masaharu Morimoto can conjure up in his next battle. My mind stays occupied in the isolated and bored hours of the day. Yet, the bad thing that can come out of TV is the fact that I could be doing something rather productive instead! Because of my unwillingness to unroot myself from the confines of my armless chair, I missed out on a beautiful day where I could have gone and played basketball, go for a run, or heck, even wash my car. It's a treacherous box, indeed.
Damnit, it's late. I better go to sleep because I have work tomorrow.
- f00j00
PS. - I think that we all should use Xanga more often. Heck, even Livejournal will do. | | |
| Last I left off at was down the stairs and into the abyss.
Chapter 2 - In-Processing
Down the windy stairs and into the basement, there were benches that line the sides of the hallway. We were ordered to sit on those benches and wait for further instructions. I was still waiting for them to yell and spit in our faces. My mind was going all over the place just thinking what was going to take place next. Then, five by five, they filed us through a door. Inside was a warehouse-like room and a counter that stretched from wall to wall with clerks behind it. It literally was a warehouse in the basement. It was filled with uniforms, ACUs, boots, and anything else that was military-related. One by one, the clerks behind the counter gave us a cursory look and then tossed us clothing items. Rapid fire eye-measuring to determine the size of our clothes. In a span of five minutes, we were given a military duffle bag, four full sets of PTs, three sets of ACUs with two pairs of boots, a set of dress uniform, and two towels, and then ushered into a not-so-private dressing room. There, an NCO came out of nowhere to ensure that we acquired everything we needed.
From there, we were ordered to strip down and get into the short-sleeved PT uniform. From there, we were issued more items like hats, gloves, belts, and other random items. Moving along the speedy conveyor belt, we then found ourselves in a classroom filling out papers.
After that, it was pretty much a blur. It was early in the morning, and they were issuing us all of these items, making us fill out all this crap, the tired-mind set settled in. I couldn't think. I soon found myself being marched to the barracks where I would find solace for a whole HOUR.
It was 0400, and we had to get up and repeat the process. Formed into a platoon formation and then marched over to the DFAC, we stood in line for TWO hours before actually getting our meal. I would soon find this to be extremely repetitious in the weeks to come during my stay at 30th AG. The meals weren't as bad as I thought it would be. There were some things that took me by surprise, however. For instance, since I was in Georgia, it is customary to eat "grits". Grits being similar to oatmeal in texture, yet lighter in taste and color. Usually it is eaten with butter, bacon, or sugar. Also, people in South love to eat their biscuits with gravy. It's not the brown gravy that everyone in the North would think of. This gravy is pure white. Also, it has chunks of sausages made with it. The outcome is quite good, I would say. Possibly the best part of the day is breakfast, because it's always consistent and good. It's very hard to destroy breakfast. Everything else sucks. Including the part when the drill sergeants and other NCOs run up and down the line telling you, "NUT TO BUTT, PRIVATES", or "LOCK IT UP!", or else it would be the "end of the line for you".
In any case, In-processing continued on for another three days. The lack of sleep as well as the yelling from the sergeants didn't quite help in my appreciation for the Army. In-processing was such an arduous process. We did random things like HIV tests, stupid slideshows, going to the shoppette in order to re-buy all of our stuff like shoes, personal hygiene, writing materials. All of this stuff was ridiculous. Not to mention the 120 degree heat, 100% humidity, and a sergeant breathing down our necks.
Once I became aware of in-processing and it's purpose, I couldn't wait to get out of there and start basic training. My assumption was, "why keep us here longer than we have to? Let's get started already." Days became nights, and nights became days. It was the same repetitious activity. Wake up at 0400, go to the pavilion and wait for the drill sergeant to call roll, go to breakfast. Come back, and sit around till 0900 when the drill sergeant gave us trivial tasks to complete like pulling weeds in the dead summer heat or waxing floors. On Sundays, we got to enjoy ourselves a little with movie viewings in the auditorium. But that usually didn't last too long when everyone started to rowdy which forced the drill sergeants to yell at us, bring us out side, and make us do push-ups on the burning hot pavement.
During the week, we were given this hope that we would be send "down-range" and start our training. Our platoon started out with 60 guys. During the first week, I thought that we were all going to start together. However, that wasn't the case. From a 60-man group we became 39. There was so much anger in the leftover group. Questions like, why couldn't they send all of us at the same time? Why the hell did I join this shit? During the second week, we had hoped again that we would be sent down-range. Only to have our optimism shredded into pieces as our group diminished to 14.
Hours became days, and days turned to weeks. I was writing back home on a daily basis, but depressed because they couldn't write back to me. I didn't have an address. We were allowed to call home on Saturdays and Sundays only, but there were long lines behind every pay phone. My hope diminished and depression settled in. The days dragged on and on. I got to call back home after waiting five hours in line. That's how desperate I got for the familiar human contact that I yearned. I called my recruiter and expressed my anger of how much 30th AG sucked. I called my XYZ and was in tears of how much I missed her.
Two weeks into this crap, and I realized that I could get correspondence. I snuck a chance to call XYZ and told her to send me some letters. Within the week, I got letters that instilled a sense of hope in me. Hope that I would see her again, hope that I would see my friend again, hope that my time here was almost done.
The third week came. Finally, my number was called.
- F00J00
PS. - Next time, Basic Combat Training.
| | |
| I never thought my life would take so many twists and turns that culminate up this point.
It's really astounding as to what happened to me over the years.
Let's see... when was the last time I had actually posted on a regular basis? Senior year!
In any case, let's try retracing all those lost steps up to this point.
Let's see. What had happened...
Well, the very last time that I posted something about my life was my last day as a civilian. Ironically enough. That very last day, I was wasted. Trying to party it up before my departure.
SECTION 1: BASIC COMBAT TRAINING
THREE weeks. That's all I can say. THREE fucking weeks of my life. Gone. Down the drain. As emotional as it was to leave on that plane to go to some far and outlandish place in order to become a soldier, nothing could really prepare me for what was about to happen next. This part of my life I shall call, "30th AG (Adjutant General)".
Chapter One - 30th AG
Going through all the process and rigmaroles of the Military Entrance Processing Station (MEPS), I soon found myself on a plane headed to Fort Benning, GA. I envisioned that it was going to be a quick departure from the norm and I will find myself being yelled at by Drill Sergeants and forced to do push-ups. I felt that I could handle this all. I was confident that it wasn't going to faze me. I got off the airplane, already missing home. Missing my girlfriend, missing my friends. Heck, even missing Marty. That's saying a lot. When you start missing an annoying little brother, that's some serious issue with homesickness.
Anyway, there were people gathered all over the United States. We were all gathered in one spot in Atlanta airport upon gathering all of our bags. Nervous as always, I stayed quiet while the others tried to find friends in one another before the hardships that lie ahead of us. The clock in the middle of the gallery struck 9 pm. We then proceeded into the abyss. Given orders to stay in a single file as we were herded through a maze of stairways and hallways that ended with a bus at the end of the tunnel. Like cows on a trailer, we were herded onto the bus. The bus was quiet throughout most of the ride. Some had their cellphones and were talking to their loved ones. I obviously was talking to XYZ. I sensed that the guy next to me was envying me of my use the phone. So, upon completion of my conversation with my beautiful maiden, I loaned the complete stranger the use of my phone. I tried to get some sleep, but nervousness, excitement, and worry filled my stomach and prevented me from sleeping.
Nervous for fear of what may come. Excitement for what I can become. And worry for what I have done.
As the bus rolled to a stop at a gate, I wondered if it were too late to leave as the armed sentries checked the ID of the bus driver. The bus moved past the gate. After a few minutes of driving, we stopped at a building. "30th Adjutant General: Reception".
At 11:21, I laid eyes upon a Drill Sergeant, and I assumed he was going to get on the bus and start yelling instructions to get off his bus. It was surprising though. Instead, a regular NCO came on the bus and told us to unload our stuff. Compliant as we were, though some dawdled. It was hot, 90-something degrees, even at night. We were organized into a platoon formation and ordered into the building.
Inside, there were benches extending from one side of the building to the other. It wasn't that big to begin with. But it was desolate. The in-processing Sergeant gave us a number, and ordered us onto the benches in sequence. From there, we were ordered to take out the forms and papers that were given to us at MEPS. The Sergeant and his orderlies began taking the papers. They completed their tasks and then ordered us, again, into single file down a set of windy stairs next in the corner of the room.
To be continued... Chapter 2 - In-Processing!
- F00j00
PS. - w00t!
| | |
|